Chapter CXXIII – Behold, how great a matter a little beer kindleth!

29th of Autumn 5859
Aroghlie, Zon’guldac

“It’s a shameful display, it really is.” Lady Whitebeard was back home, to quite the expected surprise. Elves, elves everywhere on the streets, in the buildings, under dwarven rooves. They had let her in as she was a dwarf. There was nothing to suspect about a dwarf returning from a trading trip. The countless stone brick houses of the outdoors section of Aroghlie were boarded up, some demolished during the chaos, some standing resiliently as the had done so for thousands of years.

The stone of Aroghlie was mostly black, similar to coal in appearance but much more resilient than its cousin, and even clay bricks and other stones were painted black to match the slate rooves of the city. Now it made it hard to determine which buildings had been burnt down and which were still standing as Whitebeard passed by the mostly empty streets. The only ones she was passing by was the occasional elven soldier, who looked down on her with much derision. There was the occasional corpse shuffled to a back street, sometimes multiple, that nobody had bothered to pick up yet. Some corpses elven, most of them dwarven soldiers who hadn’t done the best when on defense. Perhaps the lack of people was from all the conscripted dwarves who had been slaughtered during the siege, though Whitebeard wouldn’t put her money on them having been brave enough for such a devastating last stand. That’s how the dwarves had been defeated: not even having put up a fight competently enough to be narrated in the history books.

Whitebeard’s defeated self-narration was suddenly interrupted by a familiar face. “Lady Barbarossa?” It was the Lord of Trade, the one who had sent Whitebeard on the mission to Casamonu.

“What a chance encounter, Miss Whitebeard. Unfortunately, I am just Barbarossa now. The Supreme Council unanimously voted to dissolve itself out of shame when the elves entered the city.” The two women gave each other a salute, hands to the forehead and boots tapping on the ground which was perhaps the oddest form of salute practiced in Gemeinplatz practiced by the dwarves.

Whitebeard paused, not sure whether what she heard was right “…the Supreme Council was voting while the city fell? Explains why you’re alive, then, if you surrendered without fighting.”

“We had no choice, Whitebeard. You should’ve seen how their cannons tore our walls like they were made of paper. It would have been an utter massacre with the state our troops were in.”

A sigh, a long and draw out one from Whitebeard, followed. “I guess I can’t blame you… or anyone else. Nobody expected that the situation would change so quickly in the Empire, that peace would be broken so suddenly and so violently. None of us had time to prepare.”

Barbarossa looked around her. Seeing nobody was around, she whispered “It isn’t over yet, we’ll kick these knife-ears out if that’s the last thing I do.”

“I’m here just for that” replied Whitebeard with a smile, and she continued with a cautious whisper “The fugitives of Casamonu wish to give refuge to dwarves, and their leader promised to help retake our city when they have gathered their strength. I’m here to take anyone who is willing to leave.”

“So, the dwarven race has fallen to asking for help from human fugitives, huh? I’m pretty sure almost everyone would be willing to make an escape, if it means not being under the Imperial boot.” Barbarossa chuckled with pity at herself and her kind.

“We’ll have to accept the help. The fugitives have won against the Imperials, unlike us here. Unless you wish to find your way up the mountain on your own and find your own band?”

“Definitely not, I’d not last long against the full dedicated force of the Empire, I’m afraid. Come, drinks are on me today, you won’t want to plan our escape while sober, do you?” Barbarossa tugged at Whitebeard’s sleeves.

Whitebeard happily obliged, following her new drinking buddy. “A good dwarf never does anything sober, though maybe I’ll try to not be more than tipsy tonight.”

Uhm, what day was it again?
It’s like there’s a woodpecker pecking at my head… where are we?

Whitebeard was… somewhere. She knew she was somewhere because everybody is somewhere all the time, that’s how it works. You can’t exactly be nowhere, in life or in death, whether you are standing or under the grave and-

“Whitebeard! What’s that blank stare, for goodness’ sake?!”

Oh, right, Whitebeard was somewhere. That somewhere was the streets of Aroghlie, at night, and she had an enormous gang of dwarves behind her. Right next to her was Barbarossa, and a few elves knocked unconscious, and… Oh dear, that was trouble, wasn’t it? Scratch that, that is trouble.

“Wh-where are I- we? Where we are?!” shouted Whitebeard.

“You don’t remember what you just did?! I shouldn’t have let you drink so much… We’re escaping!” shouted back Barbarossa.

“When?”

“It has been almost a week since you came here!”

“When?!”

“What does that question even mean?! Come on, let’s run!”

“O-okay?”

The tunnels, deep inside, that’s where she needed to go. Whitebeard felt herself sobering up as the situation hit her like cold water to the face. Memories… Right, she had rambled to these dwarves while drunk, it ended up snowballing, and then some elves had gotten angry about it, they were beaten up, and now… “Right, right, let’s go!”

41st of Autumn 5859
Libertycave, Mount Curry

“Phew… Somehow we’re back again.” Whitebeard, and her caravan of refugees, paused to take a breather right in front of the walls of Libertycave. Yes, there were walls now – no longer just a bunch of bricks dumped on a field, now they lined up like well-prepared soldiers and could take at least one shot of canon before collapsing (in theory).

The caravan of dwarves was drawing all attention from passersby, who stopped to gawk at this rare sight of a dwarven group outside of their mountain home. The dwarves were all loaded up with their belongings, carrying bags and sacks on their shoulders, though most of them had done the sane thing and carried a light load.

After their little break, Lady Whitebeard stepped forth to hail the guards in front of the gate. Oddly enough for Libertycave, they were carrying freshly-forged steel spears. Their copper helmets were still far from dwarven standards though. Allies they may be, Whitebeard did not like the prospect of fighting alongside such poorly equipped men. Things would have to change, and fast, with some expert dwarven help. “Greetings, I am Lady Whitebeard, bringing you a delivery of several hundred fresh dwarves. Take me to Mister Brown, if you could.”

“A-alright, Lady Whitebeard… that, that is quite an impressive party” replied one of the guards. “The captain will probably notice your impressive party and be here in a moment now…”

Thus the dwarves arrived at Libertycave, to their temporary (?) home.